


Slow Show

by RhetoricFemme



Series: Scenic World AU [15]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: That’s not to say he was proud of himself. Rather, he liked to be reminded of his place in the world. That despite his accomplishments he was owed nothing, and needed to give better than nothing in return.No one else could remind him of it. Mainly because it was a concept that made sense only to him; a personal mantra born of him, that one day in the far off future would die with him. It was no one else’s burden to bear.





	Slow Show

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who needs a heads up before reading, this story deals in self-harm in an adult. 
> 
> I hope you're all well. <3

Ruined blisters always seem worse when someone else gets a look at them.

It hadn’t seemed like that big a deal when Marco was dealing with them on his own. It hadn’t been an inconvenience to pick the fiber from his sweater away from an irritated wound on the inside of his elbow. He didn’t mind that his flesh has been left tender and red from the goings on of the day.

On the contrary, it’d been the prick and sting of those very wounds that seemed to help Marco make it from one end of the day to the other.

That’s not to say he was proud of himself. Rather, he liked to be reminded of his place in the world. That despite his accomplishments he was owed nothing, and needed to give better than nothing in return.

No one else could remind him of it. Mainly because it was a concept that made sense only to him; a personal mantra born of him, that one day in the far off future would die with him. It was no one else’s burden to bear.

Marco would bandage it all up before the end of the week. Come to his senses and admit that sticking the hot steel of a cigarette lighter to his skin wasn’t the best idea. Depending on how things were going either promise that this would be the last time, or perhaps admit to himself the likelihood of it happening again.

Maybe he’d bring it up with his therapist. At least, if she brought it up he wouldn’t lie about it.

Marco might divulge how just the other night Jean had found him asleep at the dining room table, wrist bumped up against a once steaming mug of tea. He’d stirred not to the sting of ointment against his broken and scalded skin, but to the sensation of Jean tending to him.

Well.

That had been more than Marco had bargained for.

Always so meticulous about these sorts of things, so cautious and on alert that part of Marco was almost willing to admit to himself that there was a certain appeal in allowing Jean to find out. He certainly hadn’t argued when Jean had raised the sleeve of his shirt past his elbow. Just kept his head down, pretending to still be asleep.

Without a word, Jean had taken care of that, too.

Quietly throwing out used Band-Aid wrappers and pink tinged napkins, replacing the cap on the ointment and putting it away while pouring the now cold tea down the kitchen sink.

Roused Marco from where he lay, hunched over scribbled out numbers and partially finished music scores. One hand on his shoulder while the other gently tugged Marco to his feet, not forgetting to pull down the still scrunched up sleeve of his sweater.

It should have been humiliating, honestly. Had it been anyone else dressing Marco’s injuries, cleaning up after his misgivings, he most certainly would have jolted awake. Politely shoved all potential Samaritans away while refusing the attention.

But Jean, he knew in some ineffable way, was cut from the same cloth. Perhaps from a sturdier patch of fabric, but the same cloth no less.

Marco had come to know this throughout the years, had been there to watch Jean evolve over the course of their friendship. Witnessing Jean’s awkward adjustment from an overconfident boy who knew nothing but trust for others, to a man holding tight to all he held dear, wanting desperately to be the change in both his and the broader world.

There had been no shortage of things Marco had wanted to say to Jean over the course of time. And while he did occasionally find the gumption to voice some of those thoughts—to assuage the uncertainties and hesitations that fought one another in Jean’s eyes—so much else had for the time being, been left unsaid.

Sentiments and words that in Marco’s current state, flowed freely through his mind, daring to make their way past his lips with every second that Jean’s fingers gently clung onto him.

_I love you, you should be with me, why aren’t we together, I’m better than this I could be good for you don’t you see..._

“M’fine.”

“I know you are.” Jean had whispered, guiding them toward what had become their spot together on the couch. “C’mon.”

While these days Marco had been caught up in the midst of his own brokenness, Jean had been spending his time quietly on the mend. Fusing his spirit back together after it’d been so thoroughly chipped away.

Together, they were just enough to lean on one another, to help the other stand upright. Realizing that some days it wasn’t so much about feeling good as much as it was about simply getting by.

And in that moment, it’d really been all Marco could possibly need.

He’d allowed himself the quiet bit of succor Jean was offering. The little promise that moments of weakness were indeed okay, and that Jean would be nearby until Marco remembered the strength within his own two feet.

And just like always, it hadn’t been terribly long before Marco found himself standing upright all over again. What a blessing it was to discover Jean standing right there, too.

Ruined blisters always seem worse when someone else gets a look at them, that much might be true.

But for Jean to be there as Marco comes back together, to look at him with pride in his eyes, to kiss at Marco’s skin long after it’s healed over, is a satisfying and hard fought win.


End file.
